An Indication of Type
by tuesdaymidnight
Summary: According to pop psychology, everyone has a certain personality type. Edward's has always been on the straight and narrow. It takes a trip Europe to break his own mold. AH. Slash. Rated M.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Twilight or any of the characters. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Author's Note:** This was originally posted as an entry in the Eurofornication Contest.

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><p>Edward Cullen never was a very rebellious boy. In fact, he was actually a bit of a geek. He was too old to like superheros, but he collected comic books anyway. After he graduated from high school, he immediately went to university. In fact, he enrolled in an early entrance program so he could start taking classes in the summer.<p>

He was about ready to graduate _summa cum laude _four years later with a double major in psychology and music theory. It was only when graduation was imminent then that he realized it – he had completely and utterly missed out on the entire "college experience." While his friends were out doing body shots off sorority girls, or whatever it was they did, Edward was composing Sonatas or reading Carl Jung.

It was Jung who first measured psychological types, but it was Briggs and Myers who created "the world's most widely used personality assessment." Edward had taken the test countless times, in his psychology classes and for his own personal amusement. Try as he might, every damn time Edward took the test, it told him he was an INTJ. Those four letters haunted him since the first time he heard about them in Psychology 101. He didn't want to be organized and goal-oriented. He didn't want to have such high standards for himself. He didn't want to always see far into the future. Truth be told, he wanted to be more like his best friend Alice, a clear ESFP, opposite him in every way.

Alice was outgoing, spontaneous, and adaptable. She was exuberant and enthusiastic about life. She made things happen. Ever since that day in 2nd grade when she dared Edward to eat his paste, they had been best friends, and she tried to push him into her adventures every chance she got.

Occasionally she succeeded, though not often enough for her liking. So when Edward went to her with his "lack of college experiences" crisis just as final exams were starting, she had the answer.

"You're going to go hitchhiking through Europe this summer," Alice had said rather matter-of-factly.

"You're insane," Edward had replied with just as much surety. It was ridiculous. Hitchhiking through Europe was not something a recent college graduate did. College graduates should be entering the workforce, moving into their own places, getting married or starting families. They shouldn't be packing up the dorm room they stayed in for the past four years and moving all their worldly possessions into their parents' basement. Although, said parents were surprisingly supportive of what Alice had deemed Edward's European Adventure.

Esme and Carlisle had both noticed Edward's bookish tendencies over the years, and they were worried that he would regret not having at least one adventure before he entered into adulthood. They even agreed to split the cost of Edward's trip as a graduation present, even though he had saved more than enough from summers of waiting tables.

Of course, they were going to demand that he start looking for a job immediately after he return home, but a month in Europe was a once in a lifetime experience. Finding a PR or administrative position somewhere could wait.

The day after graduation, Edward was on a plane to Paris armed only with a hiker's backpack and a Eurail pass. So what if he wasn't hitchhiking? It wasn't safe.

_Introversion.  
>Introverts tend to think before acting, needing quiet time alone to recharge.<em>

On reflection, Edward was shocked to find himself sitting in a train station in Budapest.

When he landed in Paris two and half weeks prior, he had a brief panic attack when it finally sank in that he was alone in France. He didn't speak French. Even with four semesters of Spanish at university, he was only confident that he could count and ask where the bathroom was. Since the trip was so last minute, he didn't plan ahead enough to memorize basic phrases in any language.

Fortunately, the stereotype of the rude Frenchman turned out not to be true, and after calming himself down in a bathroom stall in Charles de Gaulle Airport, Edward managed to take a train into the city. Thanks to Google he found a youth hostel, and so he spent his first night in Paris curled up in a bunk bed underneath a snoring Croatian.

He was bolder on his second day and ventured out into the City of Lights. He knew embarrassingly little about Paris, so he decided to just be a tourist and hit all the major landmarks. The Eiffel Tower looked exactly the way it did in pictures, other than the hundreds of fellow tourists swarming around it, jostling Edward as he tried to position his camera to take an artistic shot. The same tourists, well, they all looked the same to Edward, were also pushing against him and invading his personal space at the Arc de Triomphe, the _Sacré_-_Coeur,_ and again in front of the _Mona Lisa_.

All in all, Edward was completely underwhelmed by his first day in Paris, and he highly considered booking his return flight home for the very next day. It was the snoring Croatian who changed his mind.

When he wasn't snoring, the Croatian, whose name was Petar, was actually extraordinarily friendly, enthusiastic and nearly fluent in English. He was an art student, traveling first to Paris and then onto Italy to take in the works of the masters. Edward took him immediately for an ENFP.

"You must see the Catacombs," Petar insisted. "There is nothing else like it in the world."

Edward reasoned that he was supposed to be seeking out unique experiences, so he promised Petar that he would give the tombs under the city a chance. But if one more tour group elbowed their way around him to get a closer look at a skull or something, he was on the next flight back to the States.

Luckily for Edward, he managed to avoid peak tour times and was able to navigate the tunnels without an over-enthusiastic guide interrupting his train of thought every 30 seconds with an anecdote about some famous Frenchman Edward had never heard of.

In fact, something happened to Edward when he was down in the catacombs, breathing in the stuffy air and staring at the macabre bones and skulls. He was in the Crypt of the Sepulchral Lamp when it struck him.

He realized among all the remains of lost souls that if he didn't start taking a few more chances for adventure, he was going to wind up just like them. In the grand scheme of things, of course, eventually he would die, but he didn't want to be filled with regret, piled away and forgotten.

The very next day, he utilized his Eurail pass and took a train down to Lyon. Being close to the Alps rejuvenated Edward, even though he wasn't a skier. Instead of hiding in museums like he was inclined to do, he forced himself to wander around the city. He went to wine-tastings, climbed Roman ruins, and when he stumbled upon Interpol's international headquarters, he pretended to be a spy for the rest of the day.

The mountains were calling him, though, and his next stop was a quick trip to Geneva. Edward was transfixed by the blueness of the lake, but seeing Mount Blanc in the distance had him craving elevation. He went to the Klee museum in Bern and thought Petar should have added it to his own journey. He went to a football game in Stuttgart and hiked in the foothills in Innsbruck. The urge to move east continued to pull on him.

He meandered through Austria, taking short distance trains, stopping in small Austrian towns, eventually ending in Vienna. He fell in love with city immediately. It had a different atmosphere than the other cities he had been in. Although there were a lot of tourist destinations, he found that if he avoided Stephansplatz, it was easier to stay anonymous. He could walk around the city, appreciate its ambiance and sit in little cafes drinking rich, dark coffee. He went out at night and surprised himself by making out with a cute Austrian boy whose name he couldn't hear over the din of the club. He could feel something changing inside him, and he was starting to wonder how he would ever be able to go back to Forks.

It was a cold rainy day that sent him to Budapest.

Two thousand years of history were seeping through the buildings and streets of the Hungarian capital. Seeing the bats in the belfry of St. Stephen's Basilica made Edward realize how close to Romania he was. Alice had always teased him mercilessly for his fondness for vampires, but he couldn't help his fascination. They were superhuman and debonair and sensual and immortal – everything that Edward was not. He was so close to Transylvania, though, he could at least pretend that Dracula still walked the halls of Poenari Castle, so he picked Cluj as his next destination.

Other than the boy at the discotheque in Vienna, Edward didn't have any thoughts of romance on his mind. He was here for a personal experience, and even though he felt like life was being breathed back into him, he was still keeping to himself for the most part.

Nevertheless, if Edward had a type, it was definitely tall, dark and handsome, and the young man sitting on the bench right under the sign that indicated Cluj as the destination of the next train fit all three criteria. He was lanky, with a slight build and creamy pale skin. His hair was dark and cleverly tousled. His eyes were a rich chocolate brown, and they were looking right at Edward. A small smile quirked up on the boy's lips.

Edward flushed and turned away.

_Intuition.  
>Intuitive people tend to be future-oriented, theoretical and relate data to patterns.<em>

Edward was sitting in a train compartment all by himself. It was big enough to seat six, but the passengers who boarded the train were few. Transylvania wasn't a popular destination for tourists, other than vampire-lovers like Edward. He was certain he was the only American aboard the train, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized he was starting to hear less and less English being spoken the further east he traveled.

Even after the fall of the Soviet Union, the popular tourist destinations for Americans tended to be in Western Europe or along the Mediterranean. Alice was going to be disappointed that Edward wasn't touring through Italy and bringing her back copious amounts of wine, but Italy held no appeal to Edward. There was something about the mix of east and west in Austria and Hungary that Edward found fascinating. He wondered if Budapest would feel the same 10 years from now, and he made a silent promise to himself to return.

Edward was pulled from his thoughts by the door to his train compartment opening. He assumed it was the train attendant asking for his ticket, so he reached for his backpack.

When he glanced toward the compartment door, he instead found the gorgeous young man from the train station. Edward had not seen him board the train, choosing instead to get on in one of the rear cars in the hopes of having privacy. This intrusion, however, was not unwanted.

He was standing in the doorway like a statue. His cheek bones were high and positively chiseled. His lips were full and pouty, and Edward was suddenly picturing his cock pushing through them. His eyes were sparkling as he seemed to be looking at Edward with the same type of superficial appraisal. Edward fought the urge to nervously run a hand through his hair.

Edward figured that the young man must be Romanian, perhaps returning home, and he once again regretted not learning at least a few pick-up lines in major European languages. He was surprised when the other man spoke.

"May I sit with you?" Though he had a very thick Romanian accent, his English was clear and polite, making Edward feel very sheepish at his own linguistic ignorance.

Taken aback, Edward nodded, his eyes still combing over the beautiful specimen who was taking the seat across from him.

"You are American, yes?" the man asked, clearly confused at Edward's seeming inability to speak.

"Yes, yes I am American. My name is Edward," he finally regained his composure and extended his hand.

"My name is Stefan," the other man said, looking at Edward's hand and then shaking it. Stefan continued, "In my country, we don't shake hands, we kiss each other on the cheek."

He winked at Edward, causing his cheeks to flush once again. It made sense of course, Europeans seemed less concerned with personal space the way Americans were. The more he observed, the more Edward started to realize that his countrymen and women were very reserved in some ways, though he did miss a certain shamelessness that a lot of Americans possessed.

Edward caught himself trying to analyze the situation and quietly chastised himself. What would Alice do now? A hot guy, by all appearances, was flirting with him. _Flirt back_, he could hear Alice's voice in his head.

"Since I'm going to your country, I'd like to learn your customs," Edward heard himself say.

A smile broke out on Stefan's face, and in a quick movement, he crossed the gap between their seats and took the one to Edward's left.

_Thinking.  
>Thinkers tend to search for facts and logic when making decisions, and they provide objective analysis.<em>

"If I met with you on the street, I would do this."

Stefan grabbed Edward's right hand as he leaned forward. He brushed his lips lightly against Edward's right cheek and then his left. Edward hoped that his heart couldn't be heard pounding in his chest.

"You are going to Cluj?" Stefan asked calmly, dropping Edward's hand.

Edward realized that he was still leaning forward, so he settled back in his seat. Stefan seemed so composed, Edward started to question their interaction. He had been so sure he was being flirted with, but maybe he was losing something in translation.

"Yes, Cluj," Edward replied. "Is that where you are from?"

As he made small talk with Stefan, he tried to evaluate the situation. Stefan, he decided, was definitely an ENTP, but Edward still couldn't tell if the young Romanian was simply being friendly. While Stefan talked about his hometown of Sibiu, which was actually further south in Transylvania than Cluj, he started to angle himself toward Edward. However, he could have simply been animated by the pride he felt in his home. Edward spoke about Forks and going to university in Seattle, all the while taking mental notes about Stefan, trying to figure the situation out.

First, Stefan was dressed in tight pants and his hair was styled almost artfully. Then again, Edward had noticed that most European men wore tight pants. Second, Stefan was most definitely leaning in toward Edward more than necessary. Forks, Washington was just about the least interesting place on the planet, but the Romanian man seemed engaged in Edward's explanation. Third, Stefan was wearing a rainbow bracelet around his wrist, but then, Edward didn't know if the rainbow was a universal symbol.

With inconclusive results, Edward tried to determine a surefire test he could run to determine Stefan's interest. While Edward was busy plotting, Stefan took matters into his own hands, literally.

The fact that Stefan now had his hand on Edward's thigh was a clear enough indication to Edward that he was, in fact, being hit on.

"Maybe we should get to know more about each other first," Edward suggested with a squeak.

Stefan's hand disappeared, and Edward couldn't help but squirm a little at the loss of contact.

"You are homosexual, yes?" Stefan asked, his eyes were wide with what looked like fear.

"Yes," Edward said. "Very much homosexual."

Stefan exhaled.

"Are you?" Edward asked. The fact that the Romanian's long, artistic fingers had been pawing near his groin seemed to be a sure sign that he wanted to do something with Edward's cock, but his reaction was confusing to Edward.

"There are not very many homosexuals in Romania," Stefan explained. "Most of my people are Orthodox, and being homosexual was a crime until 15 years ago. Last year's pride festival in Bucharest only had a few hundred people."

"I'm sorry," was all Edward could reply. In his head he was foolishly thinking about asking Stefan to come back to Washington with him. It wasn't as though Edward never faced discrimination, but he couldn't imagine a world where he could be arrested simply for being who he was.

"It is getting better," Stefan replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

They sat in silence for a minute.

Edward finally realized that Stefan probably felt rejected at his earlier moment of panic, so he figured he should probably do something proactive.

"You startled me earlier," he started to explain. "But in a good way. I- I like you."

He felt the heat rising in his cheeks once more, but then his blood started rushing somewhere else as Stefan's hand returned to his thigh, brushing against his hardening dick in the process. Edward threw his head back against the seat and groaned.

A noise coming from the other end of the train car snapped him back to attention.

"Anyone could see us!" Edward exclaimed, as he tried to adjust his dick that was now straining against his black jeans. Alice told him that Europeans wore a lot of black, but he was suddenly wishing for a pair of his faded Levi's that had plenty of room in the crotch.

"The WC?" Stefan suggested, using the British term with a raise of his eyebrow.

_Judgment.  
>Judging people tend to plan ahead and naturally use deadlines to manage their lives.<em>

So that's how Edward found himself being pressed up against the lavatory door on the Eurail train winding through the Carpathian Mountains. Stefan was thin, but he had a remarkably strong grip on Edward's wrists, pinning him to the metal door. It didn't hurt that Edward was putty in his hands. Stefan leaned forward, but it was Edward who closed the distance. He never remembered being so drawn to a pair of lips before, and then suddenly they were pressing urgently against his and Edward found himself welcoming the other man's eager tongue into his mouth.

While Stefan started to undo the buttons on his shirt, Edward's mind started to wander. Was he really doing this? Kissing a stranger in a club was one thing, but was he going to have sex on a train with a man he just met? This was completely crazy and spontaneous and so far removed from his experience that he couldn't help but tense.

"Edward?" Stefan asked. "Where did you go?"

Edward's voice of reason was telling him to stop this nonsense right now. Edward was going to get laid, but he knew he would get attached to the beautiful Romanian man in the process and then probably never see him again when they parted from the train in a few hours. _No! _That was old Edward's way of thinking. He was supposed to be living in the moment on this adventure, and this particular moment was one that Edward knew he wanted.

"Nowhere," Edward pulled Stefan in to plant a deep kiss on his lips. "I'm here."

He went for Stefan's shirt, and the two young men became frantic. Edward couldn't decide whether to take off his pants first or go for Stefan's. Luckily Stefan was less of a planner and had both of them unbuttoned and unzipped before Edward realized it. While he was stepping out of his jeans, Stefan turned toward the lavatory sink, as if looking for something.

"What is it, Stefan?" Edward asked, shifting awkwardly in nothing but his socks and boxer-briefs.

"We need," he paused as if searching for the word. "Lubrifiant."

"That's the Romanian word for lubricant?" Edward laughed.

"Ah, I knew it wasn't right," Stefan said with a smile.

"Close enough," Edward replied as he quickly tried to pull his jeans back on, which was easier said than done on a moving train.

"Where are you going?"

"I have_ lubrifiant _in my bag," he said the word in an exaggerated accent, causing Stefan to laugh.

In a very un-Edward-like move, he stepped up to Stefan and pressed him against the sink, making their hard bodies flush while Edward brought his lips down to the Romanian man's neck and sucked on the soft, pale skin, turning the other man's laughter into a soft moan of pleasure.

Edward didn't bother buttoning his shirt or putting on shoes as he went back to the train compartment. The train was quiet and dark, and Edward hoped the other passengers were sleeping. When he packed his bag back in Washington, he had no intention of actually using the stash of condoms and lube, but he was now very glad he tried to plan for all situations. Train lavatory soap might have worked, but Edward could imagine the discomfort in his ass the next day.

Edward knocked softly on the lavatory door and was rewarded with a naked Stefan on the other side. Edward's jaw dropped a little at the first glance of his long, hard, uncut cock. Instead of plump lips sucking him, it was Edward who ungracefully dropped to his knees and pulled the Romanian's dick into his mouth. As he sucked and licked up to the head, Edward realized first, that he very much enjoyed teasing foreskin with his tongue, and second, he also liked that he was acting on instinct.

The way Stefan groaned as Edward teasingly licked around and under the hood of skin made Edward feel powerful and in control, even though he really had no idea what he was doing.

Stefan made the next decision for him. Edward didn't like him pulling away, but when the taller man indicated a switch of position, and Edward was seeing those pink lips wrapping around his cock in real time, he couldn't complain about the new development. He also couldn't help himself and his hand started weaving in the Romanian's thick, dark hair.

"So hot, so hot," Edward whimpered.

Edward could feel the lips smile around his dick.

"Do you want to fuck me?" Edward was surprised to hear himself ask.

"Oh yes. Ever since I saw you waiting for this train," Stefan's reply was wanton.

Stefan stood, stumbling slightly as the train took a curve, and then turned Edward around so he was leaning over the sink. Edward handed him the condom and lube over his shoulder, a shiver of anticipation running down his spine as he heard the packet tear. He heard the snap of the lube bottle and then felt a slick cock rubbing up against his ass crack. As much as Edward wanted Stefan to just plunge right in and fuck him hard, he knew better.

He raised his head to meet Stefan's eyes in the small mirror. "I haven't done this in a long time. I need stretched."

He grabbed the lubricant and coated a finger before reaching around behind himself and pushing his own finger into his ass. If Edward was being perfectly honest, the last time anything had been inside him was when he was playing with the dildo he bought for himself as a Christmas present. It had been months though, since Edward had time to play with his toy.

"You are very hot," Stefan said, his accent thick with lust. "I want to help."

So Stefan lubed his own finger and joined it with Edward's. Together they stretched and slicked Edward until they were both about to burst.

Edward had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out as Stefan breached him.

"This is okay?" Stefan asked.

"So good," Edward groaned, getting used to the fullness. "Fuck me."

Stefan moaned at Edward's words, the desperation in the simple command was unmistakable, and he complied.

Edward didn't know if it was the vibration of the train rocking underneath them, or that Stefan managed to find his prostate almost immediately, but he knew he would not last very long at all. Luckily Stefan seemed to be in favor of racing to the finish, because he was relentless with his pace.

A hot mouth pressed against the top of Edward's back, and that small gesture had him careening toward the edge.

"Stefan," he tried to warn, but the Romanian didn't need prompting. He leaned into Edward, using the American's body for balance and reached around for his cock. He jerked Edward off while he stayed buried deep inside him. A sudden lurch of the train caused something to hit him in the right place, because Edward was suddenly coming hard. He tried to work his ass on Stefan's cock, but truth be told, he barely registered the other man's finish. His heart was beating frantically and his mind was racing.

The Romanian wrapped his arms around Edward while catching his own breath, and Edward enjoyed the weight pressing against him, keeping him upright and steady as the train continued its mountain path. Edward leaned back against Stefan's shoulder and turned his head for a kiss, but he was simultaneously going over a list of his opposite traits in his head. Open? Check. Living in the now? Check. Sensitive? Check. Spontaneous? Check.

And so it was, on a train to Transylvania with the help of a handsome stranger, that Edward Cullen finally bested Carl Jung.

_FIN_


End file.
